


Far Away From the Wreck We've Made

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Christmas Eve, Declarations Of Love, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Love Confessions, M/M, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Post-Finale Fic, Regrets, Visiting the past, christmas carol au, flinthamiltons, ghostly visits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 01:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: One lonely Christmas Eve John Silver is visited by three ghosts. They inspire him to go looking for the man he’s spent the last five years trying to put out of his mind, and his heart.





	Far Away From the Wreck We've Made

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a Christmas Carol AU. Tis the season. Make the yuletide gay.

_The ghost of Christmas Past -_

 

Silver sat by the fire, his rum forgotten. The wind slithered through the tree branches outside. Nights like these he let himself sink into the strange melancholy that seemed to come over him more and more often these days. 

It hadn't used to be like this.  _He_ hadn't used to be like this, succumbing to melancholy moods had never been his way. It had been more like...

Flint.

Usually he didn't let himself even think the name. But tonight, Silver let himself, let himself think it, and as though simply thinking the name, it was as though he had conjured up the man himself before him. There were so many Flints that he had known in his time with the Walrus crew. The angry abrasive Flint who he had first met. The sharp-eyed, sarcastic Flint and the smooth hollow-eyed Flint, who had felt a million miles away even when they were standing side by side. And then Flint at the end, weary, shadowed, unable to smooth his face into the persuasive lines he had so often used to gain his goals. Not at the end. Not faced in that clearing with that pistol with Silver at the other end of it.

Now Silver reached for the rum. He drank heavily, not wanting to let the memories drift further than that point. There was nothing after that point after all. That was where it had truly ended.

He leaned his head back with a sigh. The firelight grew dimmer and dimmer. His eyelids fluttered tiredly until slowly they drifted closed at last.

The fire grew warmer, the room itself seemed to brighten and darken simultaneously and then there was a sharp crack in the fireplace, and Silver’s head jerked upright.

A man stood by the fire, gazing down at it thoughtfully. Silver’s heart nearly stopped, for the shape of him was familiar, though he had not let himself think on this man either for quite some time. There were places in the past simply too painful to bear, and this man’s death had been one of them.

The man turned his head and smiled at him. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Silver gripped the arms of the chair, trying to steady himself and failing. He reached for the rum instead and took a gulp, thinking that would solve all of this, it would wash away the specter in front of him and the night would let him go back to his own misery in peace.

Yet when he lowered the glass, the ghost of his friend still stood there, watching him curiously much in the way he used to watch Silver doing his work aboard the Walrus.

“You do know me, don’t you?” the ghost pressed, sounding a little awkwardly now. “This would be rather… if you didn’t.”

Silver wet his lips. “Muldoon.”

The ghost brightened. “There we have it, you do remember me.” He sank down into the chair opposite Silver and beamed at him.

Silver stared back at him. “Why are you here?’  _Why have you come to haunt me now, so long after your death, and why the fuck do you look so happy about it?_

“A bit of this, a bit of that.” Muldoon said easily. “Is there any more of that?” He nodded to the rum.

Silver hesitated, and then passed it over. The ghost, for it was most definitely a ghost in front of him, was able to take it somehow, even though when Silver looked more closely, he could see through Muldoon, whose clothes and face and all of him seemed made up of vague gray mist.

“Ahh.” Muldoon smacked his lips in satisfaction. “I do miss the rum, I will tell you that.” He took another sip, wiped his mouth and handed the bottle back.

Silver thought about taking another sip but instead he set it down. “Why are you here?” He asked again. If this was a haunting, Muldoon had a strange way of going about it.

“Why are you?” Muldoon cocked his head, looking at him.

Silver frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Here.” Muldoon gestured at the room, but the gesture took on the whole of the island, the bay, the ships, everything that encompassed Silver’s life in the last five years since the day it ended.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I like a bit of peace and quiet when my ship is docked, and the authorities in Nassau don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them.” It rolled off Silver’s tongue easily enough; it might even have been true once.

“Bullshit.” Muldoon said delicately. “You’re here because you’re afraid.”

Silver offered a harsh laugh. “Of what could I possibly be afraid of now? I have already lost everything a man has to lose.” Now he reached for the rum.

Muldoon just looked back at him with that steady countenance he kept even now that he had passed into the ether and returned for a Christmas visit.  “You’re afraid of realizing there’s a chance it isn’t lost at all.”

At that Silver frowned, and started to open his mouth to protest that wasn’t it at all. He had most definitely lost it all. There was no chance of getting it back. He’d made sure of that, first with Flint, and then with Madi.

“Here.” Muldoon rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Let me show you something.”

Silver sighed, but rose to his feet as well. He placed his hand in Muldoon’s, a grasp that was surprisingly solid for a translucent being, waiting for Muldoon to tell him that actually this was all a dream, or rather, Silver himself was dead too. Perhaps someone had crept in and slit his throat while he dozed in his chair, and this was Muldoon’s way of telling him, ‘oh by the way, you’re dead.’ It seemed as likely as anything else.

“Well?” he said when nothing happened, except he was standing here holding hands with the ghost of his friend he had once watched die in the flooded hull of a ship so very long ago. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

“This.” Muldoon told him.

 

 *  *  *

 

The sun was hot upon Silver’s brow. He blinked, and looked around him.

 "Wait, I know this place.” He took a step, leaning on his crutch as he took in his surroundings. It was the camp on the beach shortly after he’d joined the Walrus. The tents were set up around him here and there. There was the ship beached, the crew busily working away around her.

But if this was then…then… Silver’s head swiveled, and there indeed he was, cooking that damned pig, or doing his best to pretend he knew what the fuck he was doing. He stared at his past self for a moment, and then, drawn to where he knew the man was that day, where he had been aware of Flint all day, watching him as he worked, he turned to the lean-to, and there at his desk, sat Flint as he had looked in those days, sleeves rolled up, ponytail tight and smooth, his hand absently stroking the beard at his jaw as he worked.

Silver sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him. “How can this be?” He breathed. “Why have you brought me here?” If someone was going to show him a moment from his and Flint’s past, why go to this one? It had been early days, nothing memorable to his mind. Except…except…He could remember the sweat in the air as the men worked, the scent of the pig cooking, the heat and the water, and Flint’s eyes meeting his, trying to suss him out. He remembered everything.

“Watch and see.” Muldoon murmured.

Silver eyed him. “Can I go closer?”

“Of course. They can’t see you.”

There was a pang at that realization, fluttering sadly in Silver’s chest, but even if Flint could see him, what on earth would he say? How could he apologize to the man Flint was then, for the things Silver would do to him in the future?

He moved closer, wanting to see as much of Flint as he could before this all vanished and he was transported back to the darkness alone.

“Oh here, we go.” Muldoon nudged him and Silver looked to see himself, his past self, younger self, walking, taking those two damn legs for granted, striding over to Flint.

He remembered this conversation, but it was different to be on the outside, observing it with all the intimate knowledge of knowing Flint later. Now he had no idea that Flint was concerned about all the things that were worrying him. He had had an inkling of course; he’d never been stupid, but now Silver looked at Flint and really saw him as he was then. The worry creased into his brow, but still restrained. The tight lines of frustration at his mouth, frustration that he couldn’t do more, that none of them could understand his plans.

None of them until Silver walked up and presented himself before Flint.

The way Flint reacted, the way he snarled and dismissed, they had all been foils, moves to keep Silver from moving too close, from weaseling in and seeing that Flint needed him, even then, even at the beginning.

The conversation done, Silver retreated his shoulders slumped, carrying that damn bowl. Flint watched him go, his eyes focused on Silver every step of the way.

“Do you see it?” Muldoon said.

It was there. The whole time Silver had watched Flint that day, Flint had been watching him too. As though he were a chart that Flint couldn’t make out the coordinates to, but kept trying to fathom all the same.

It was strange to feel the resurgence of emotions that he’d spent years denying and crushing down until they were small fragments buried in the recesses of his heart. There had been no point in admitting it once Flint was gone, and so Silver never had. What had been the necessity in admitting that he loved a man who was both so close as the shirt on Silver’s back, and as distant as the stars themselves? None at all.

He took a step forward, still wanting to reach Flint somehow, even though there was nothing to say, even now, and then the sands fell away beneath his feet, and the sun dimmed.

 

*  *  *

 

 Silver opened his eyes to see he was back in his room, before the fire, Muldoon standing nearby, an apologetic look upon his face.

With a muttered curse, Silver walked over to the rum. “Why did you bring me back? Why didn’t you leave me there _?” Let me relive the whole damn mess all over, if it only means I could see him again, as he sometimes looked at me, with that expression in his eyes. The look that said I was the only one who saw the same things he did, the only one who understood._

“What would be the point in that?” Muldoon yawned. “You know how it goes, don’t you? Randall gets trapped. Flint can’t rescue him, and you provide the tool he needs at the eleventh hour, and he sees you for what you are.”

Silver flinched. He stared down at the bottle. “Was that the way of it then?”

“The past is tricky business. How do you want to remember that day?”

“I don’t want to think of it at all.” Silver murmured. Yet now he did, picturing the way Flint had appeared before him, blood-spattered and tempered with adrenaline, throwing down the cleaver at Silver’s feet and issuing a challenge for him to step forward and join him.

And Silver had.

That was it. That was the first step, of many first steps between them. There were others, there would always be others, but that one had been first.

He looked at Muldoon. “The first day of our partnership, whether we wanted to call it that or not.”

Muldoon smiled. “And now, if you spoke to him now, what would he say about that?”

Silver laughed softly. “I don’t think he’d speak to me at all.”

“You might be wrong about that.” Muldoon’s voice sounded fainter and Silver looked at him in alarm to see the man before him fading even more into the mist. “You might get the chance very soon.”

“He’s not…” Silver reached out to grasp his friend’s sleeve. “Tell me he’s not…”

It was Muldoon’s turn to laugh. “What do you think?” He looked at Silver fondly and then, as he faded into the firelight. “I missed you, you know.”

“I missed you too.” Silver murmured, and the last sound he heard was the soft sound of Muldoon’s laughter.

 *  *  *

 

_The ghost of Christmas Present_

 

All thought of sleep was forgotten. Silver built up the fire once more, poured himself another draft of rum and moved to stand besides the fireplace where Muldoon had stood. Had he imagined all that? Had a spirit really appeared to him? It seemed absurd. And still, of all things, for a ghost to show him that moment between him and Flint was just as absurd.

Silver sank back down into his chair with a sigh. He was more exhausted than he thought to dream such things, to think he could visit the past and see possibility in it now. He focused wearily on the flames in front of him.

There was a loud crack amongst the flames and Silver sat straight up, ready for whatever appeared before him this time. In spite of Muldoon’s reassurance, he didn’t quite believe that Flint was still alive. Even though he also couldn’t bear the thought of the alternative. He half expected it to be Flint who walked through the door next. He was both relieved and disappointed; there was no other way to explain it, for how he felt when he saw instead who it was.

She looked around her with disdain, hands on her hips, as though even setting foot in the cabin was an offense of some magnitude to her. Even as a ghost Eleanor Guthrie had lost none of her poise. Silver had to admire that about her.

At last she turned and settled her gaze on Silver. “Good evening, Mr. Silver.”

"Why is it you?" Silver was genuinely bewildered by that fact. Eleanor and he had never been particularly close. That she should come to him now as a ghost seemed ludicrous. If she had been the first to appear he would have laughed. Even now the incident with Muldoon, or Muldoon's ghost (was it really him that had appeared to Silver?) had left him slightly shaken.

"Because this isn't just about you." Eleanor seemed almost bored by the question, if a ghost could be bored. Silver was curious about the whole part of that. 

"So...who is it about?"

"I never took you for this much of a fool when we met, Mr. Silver." Eleanor shrugged. "To be frank, I never took you for much of anything. I see not much has changed."

Silver bristled slightly. His reputation as a feared pirate captain usually bred some sort of respect, but Eleanor had never shown respect to anyone she didn't think deserved it.

“If you have something to say, or to show me,” He had ascertained it was that for which she had come, “Then do it. The sooner it will be finished then.”

“All right.” Eleanor nodded at him.

 

*  *  *

 

The fire flickered and for a moment Silver thought it had disappeared completely. He blinked and they were in Nassau of the past once more, standing on a wooden porch. It was a dark and starless night. The smell of the smoke from a nearby fire on the beach drifted past. Silver looked around expectantly, trying to figure out when they were.

The door to the cabin opened and Flint strode out. He walked right past Silver and Eleanor, going to stand by the railing, looking out at Nassau.

Silver took a half step towards him and then paused, looking over his shoulder. He remembered now what night this was. And there in the doorway behind Flint stood himself once more. He stood there, watching Flint silently, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows.

“Well?” Flint said at last. “Have you something to say or are you simply going to stand there all night.”

 _Go back inside_ , Silver whispered.  _There’s no need to have this conversation_. Even now, after everything that had passed between them, some moments were still too painful to relive.

“Why are we here?” He muttered through clenched teeth.

“Because this was an opportunity you held once.” Eleanor had folded her arms over her chest, her eyes on Flint.

“Why are you the one to show me this?”

“Because while you might not believe it, I happen to fucking care about him.” Eleanor shot back, glaring at him. And then she sighed, and her voice softened just a fraction. “There have been moments in my life when I could have told someone how I felt, or what they meant to me.” Her eyes returned to Flint resignedly. “And just like you, I had my pride and never spoke.”

“It wasn’t pride.” Silver murmured. It was…something else. Fear, most likely. Spite, perhaps too. But mostly fear.

He had needed Flint so much here. He needed him to see that he was worthy of something after all; that he was the true partner Flint required and even wanted. And instead Flint had dismissed him, and made his own plans for the gold.

Just the afternoon of this day Flint had given him his word, and Silver had told him with a smile upon his lips that that was he needed to hear. And then he had turned around and betrayed Flint, because he had thought there was no hope of Flint ever truly seeing him, and his gut had told him to form an escape plan, and be ready to run, just as always, just as he had always done and always planned to do.

But now…Flint rested his hands on the railing, his eyes still restlessly watching the dark. Silver drew closer automatically.

“What do you want me to say?”

Flint sighed almost imperceptibly. “Was your vote ever truly in question?”

That took Silver aback. “I…may have had some doubts.”

Silver snorted.  _Fucking liar_ , he told himself amiably.   _Yes, you had doubts, but that’s not the answer to the question Flint’s really asking now is it?_

Flint turned his head and looked at him straight on. “And now? Do you doubt me?”  His eyes pierced Silver, waiting for his response 

“No.” Silver murmured.

“Good.” Flint sighed again. “I need at least one person on my side.”

“Then count me as that person.” Silver whispered now, but there in the past, he remained silent, simply standing at Flint’s side. He had wanted to lean in and reassure Flint he was that person. He had wanted to swear his loyalty even though he had never done such a thing before in his life. Eleanor was right. He hadn’t. But it wasn’t out of pride. If Flint had rejected him then, it would have been…

He swallowed, his throat tight. “Enough.”

“Are you sure?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes.”

He didn’t want to stand here and be reminded of the opportunities lost. He wanted…fuck, he didn’t know what he wanted. If he could have anything at all, well…wishes were folly after all.

 

*  *  *

 

She brought him back to the small lonely room and Silver sank into his chair once more, leaning his crutch against the arm.

“I could have shown you other things.” Eleanor told him. “I could have simply shown you your life a year ago, or two, how empty it is without-“

Silver closed his eyes and she fell silent.

For a brief moment, a hand gently pressed his shoulder. “I thought perhaps, this would be better.”

Silver shook his head. “It’s…”

“Don’t wait too long, John Silver.”

She was gone before Silver could ask her what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

 

 *  *  *

 

_The ghost of Christmas Future_

Silver moved to the pitcher of water that stood on the bureau. He poured himself a mug and drank it, wondering if it would make a difference in what he saw. He expected not.

He returned to his chair and waited for the next ghost to appear.

The night grew darker. He added another log to the fire and sat back, watching the flames twist and dance. Silver yawned, wondering if perhaps that had been it, and it was done, and he should just go to bed and dream there like he usually did.

A puff of smoke blew out of the chimney and he coughed and then his eyes widened. The woman before him was elegant and beautiful, and there was something about her that was deeply familiar though at first he couldn’t place her. And then she turned her head, and the firelight caught the slight curve of her smile, and Silver knew her at once.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Miranda said wryly. “I must not be the first here tonight.”

Silver shook his head mutely. He wasn’t sure what he had expected at this point, Muldoon had been a surprise because he was the first ghost Silver had truly seen, and not simply dreamt. Eleanor had been unexpected because she was Eleanor. But Miranda Hamilton, as he knew her to be now, was something else.

She leaned in, offering her hand. “Let me show you something.”

 

*  *  *

 

They walked through the fireplace and Silver blinked.

“What is this?” Silver looked around the room in surprise. He didn’t recognize this. It was no memory of his. They were standing in the front room of a stately town house, a large Christmas tree decorated by the wide fireplace. A man stood by the window, gazing out at the snowy London street below.

“This is our house in London.” Miranda informed him. “And there…”

“Thomas.” Silver breathed. He drew closer, studying the man standing at the window with avid curiosity.

Thomas was as how he had pictured. Tall and handsome, a charming air about him that Silver would have admired if he hadn’t been jealous of everything the man had. His attention was focused on the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood there, clearly waiting for something. Or someone.

“I’ve already seen the past.” Silver said abruptly. “Why are you showing me this?” Of all the things to show him, why would he need to see this? Yet another reminder of the way things would never be for him. Another reminder of how Flint was happier far away from him.

“This is the past for me yes.” Miranda’s expression was slightly melancholy. “But it’s a glimpse of how your future could be.”

Silver stared at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just watch.”

So Silver stood there, waiting to see whatever it was she wanted to show him, not entirely sure he wanted to see it. How much more could his heart take?

Thomas suddenly tensed, taking a step closer to the window as he called over his shoulder “Miranda! The carriage is here!” He pressed a hand against the windowpane, as though he couldn’t wait for whoever it was that was about to step out of the carriage to arrive. And then he stepped over to the fireplace, clasping his hands together even more tightly, making an effort to contain his anticipation, and truthfully failing.

Silver moved past him to look out the window. There standing outside the carriage was a young man, removing his hat as he looked up at the house. Silver’s breath caught at the sight of him.

Lieutenant James McGraw.

Silver gazed at him in wonder as James, for it was definitely James then, and not Flint standing there on the pavement, snow falling on his greatcoat and bare head.

James approached the front door with a steady pace, but he had tilted his head upwards to glance at the window automatically. For a moment Silver was half tempted to raise his own hand in greeting, before he remembered James couldn’t see him anyway. He bit down the disappointment and turned to watch the doorway, the same as Thomas was doing.

The butler showed James in and discreetly left the room, and they stood there facing each other. Silver swallowed a pang at the intimacy between them, even standing in a sitting room in broad daylight.

“You’ve got snow on your hair.” Thomas murmured.

“I did my best to shake it off.” James said ruefully. He reached up, but Thomas was there before him, threading his fingers lovingly through James’s auburn waves.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” Thomas whispered and leaned in to kiss him.

Over his shoulder Silver saw Miranda, another younger, vibrant in red silk, Miranda pause in the doorway, smiling at them.

“There’s not even any mistletoe there.” She chided when they finally drew apart.

“Do I need the excuse of mistletoe?” Thomas reminded her and Miranda laughed, coming forward to greet James.

“Merry Christmas, James.” She kissed him too, and his arms went around her, holding her close.

Silver sent a sideways look to the spirit at his side. This Miranda was watching the others with a wistful expression. Did ghosts miss their pasts? Was this the fate of all of them? To gaze back at what they had lost?

“Come, sit by the fire and let me read to you while Miranda finishes trimming the tree.”

James stretched out on the window seat, one leg drawn up, his head in Thomas’s lap while Miranda put the last few touches to the tree. The room was full of contentment and peace, and Silver wanted to stay there watching them forever even as the ache in his heart had spread outward, vines of anguish twisting this way and that within him at the happy sight.

“Come.” Miranda murmured in Silver’s ear. “It’s time for us to go.”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?’

She shook her head regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

He took one last look at them, Miranda laughing over her shoulder at something Thomas said. Thomas rose to stand by the fire, still reading. James moved to help Miranda reach a higher branch, kissing her throat as he did.

“How can you bear it?” He turned to Miranda.

“It’s easy for the dead to bear things.” She held out her hand to him and Silver took it.

 

*  *  *

 

When he glanced back the mist had overtaken them and they were back in his room, the fire dying down once more.

Silver looked at Miranda quickly; he wasn’t ready for her to go just yet, and leave him all alone with his memories.

“You said that was a glimpse of how my future could be.” He stopped, not sure if he had understood her or not. “But…”

Miranda smiled at him. “The past and the future are intertwined as you well know There are always things tying you to the past if you let them. There are doorways to the future if you wish to open them. The question is, do you want that?”

“I…” Silver paused. “I thought I had given up all hope of…” Would Flint even want to speak with him again? Why would he?

“There is always hope,” Miranda whispered. “If you look for it.” She leaned in and brushed her pale lips across his cheek. “Merry Christmas, and good luck.”

He hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes but when Silver opened them, she was gone.

The firelight still flickered faintly. Silver gazed at it, resting his hands on the mantle.

_“You’re afraid of realizing there’s a chance it isn’t lost at all.”_

_“Don’t wait too long, John Silver.”_

_“…it’s a glimpse of how your future could be.”_

He took a deep breath and released it.

Going to the corner chest, he reached inside and took out a small valise.

 

 *  *  *

 

_A few days later on the outskirts of Boston_

The house in front of him was just an ordinary little house. What struck Silver the most was the smallness about it. It doesn’t seem large enough to encompass James Flint, or James McGraw or Barlow, or whatever he called himself these days. He would always be Flint to Silver regardless.

There was a fence running around the garden, and a large tree with its branches covered in snowy drifts. He stood there a moment, watching the light glisten on them, his hands clenched tightly around his crutch handle and his valise. Why had he dared come here? Why had he thought this was a good idea?

A side door in the house opened and Silver almost drew back, watching as a man he once knew stepped out and called back to someone still in the house, before turning to make his way over to the woodshed. His hair had grown out, he wore it in a loose queue now, and he filled his arms capably with the logs from the stacks of wood, so whatever had been done by putting him behind those gates five years ago, it had not diminished his strength one whit.

Silver stood there, still staring, because he didn’t know what else to do now.

Flint turned and started back to the house, carrying his armload of wood. He was halfway there when he finally saw him, and froze there, staring back at Silver.

“James?” a voice called from inside the house, and Silver’s eyes flickered to the door, back to Flint, waiting.

Flint half nodded to himself, and then called back, “Coming!” He went along the path, opened the door and went in, briskly closing it behind him.

That was that. Silver felt the disappointment dimly, as though he were under a mountain on the verge of an avalanche. He knew the snow would fall and bury him, eventually crushing him until he couldn’t breathe, but for now he could still walk so what he needed to do was turn around and go back the way he came, through the small cobbled streets, possibly stopping at the inn for a meal before he found passage back to anywhere but here.

He had taken exactly three steps when the door opened again and it was his turn to freeze, as though he had been caught doing something wrong, which perhaps he had.

Hesitantly he turned and saw Flint standing there in the doorway, silently watching him.

Silver swallowed tightly, wanting to speak, yet terrified of doing so. He had thought of many speeches on the journey here, and none of them seemed remotely adequate now that he was here.

“Well?” Flint called at last. “Are you coming in or not?”

 

*  *  *

 

Silver followed him into the warmth of the kitchen, looking around him with interest and a little trepidation. He had no good explanation for why he had come all this way.  _Three ghosts from our past appeared and told me time was running out, so here I am._

Flint turned and faced him, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he surveyed Silver.

“Well?”

“Merry Christmas.” Silver said feebly. It seemed as good an opening as any.

“You’re a week late.” Flint said shortly.

Silver shrugged. “It took me a little while to find you.”

Flint’s expression turned slightly curious at that. “How did you find me?”

“I had to persuade Max to tell me.”

“Max…” Flint repeated. “She would make sure she knew these things, of course.”

“Of course.”

Flint shook his head. He looked at Silver again and then turned to the kettle hanging over the fireplace. He took two tin mugs down from a shelf and set them on the table. Silver watched him make the tea silently, and accepted his when Flint handed it to him.

It warmed his hands, and he drank quickly, burning his tongue slightly .

When he looked up Flint was still just gazing at him.

“Well?” Flint demanded. “Why have you come now? Why wait till now?”

“I thought.” Silver started and faltered. “Where’s Thomas?”

“He thought this was a conversation we needed to have alone and went for a walk.” Flint set his mug down and rested his hands on the table, still watching Silver. “What did you think?”

“I thought you’d be happier without me.” Silver murmured.

“It’s not your place to decide that.” Flint reached out to cup his cheek, staring at Silver with a fervency he couldn’t restrain.

It was a dream, Silver told himself, standing there in the kitchen with Flint, Flint touching him. It didn’t seem real. Not until Flint slowly moved around the table and kissed him.

Silver’s eyes closed; he couldn’t bear for this to be a dream too.

But it was real, Flint’s lips on his, Flint’s tongue craving more and stirring more within Silver with every caress. His hands had moved to rest on Silver’s shoulders, steadying him. It was too real and Silver opened his eyes to see Flint gazing back at him.

Silver drew a shaky breath. “I…thought you’d never want to speak with me again.”

“I thought that too for a while.” Flint murmured.

“What happened?”

“Five years.”

Silver had to chuckle at that. Flint’s hand moved to brush his cheek again, so gently, he had to remind himself it was still not a dream.

“It’s the new year.” Flint said after a moment. “I don’t want a fresh start. I don’t want to begin again. I’m too…old for that. I’m too  _tired_  for that.” He looked at Silver steadily. “We can’t erase the past.”

“What do you want then?” Silver dared to ask.

 “What I do want is…” Flint hesitated, “Is to know that you’re here. With me.”

Silver moved closer. “I am here.” He didn’t know what capacity Flint wanted him, whether any of this would work, and he still needed to speak with Thomas, but oh the hope that rose up within him at those words, it was so sharp and bright, it hurt to breathe.

“Good.” Flint nodded.

“Just like that?” Silver couldn’t help sounding skeptical.

“I don’t want to go another five years without you at my side.” Flint said abruptly. He looked for a moment, considering his words in the manner that Silver had seen him do a hundred times and never cherished as much as he did now.  Flint looked up once more, his eyes holding Silver’s gaze. “I’ve done that. I don’t want to do it again.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then stay.” Flint said simply. He reached out his hands and Silver placed his in Flint’s.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me.”  _I’ll stay forever if you’ll have me._

Flint nodded. “Good.” He repeated, and there was a crinkle of a smile at the corner of his eyes. “That’ll do for a start.”

Silver started laughing, and then for a moment he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop, not before it turned to tears.

“Hey, hey, here now.” Flint whispered, brushing at the corners of his eyes. “What is it?”

“You know why I came.” Silver forced himself to look up at Flint. “You do know. You have to.”

Flint was silent. “Say it then.”

Silver’s laugh was a half-rasp, half-sob. “Damn you, you know I love you.” He had never once, not truly, let himself imagine saying that to Flint, in those exact words. And so he had never once imagined how Flint would respond. Even now the trepidation lingered.

Flint nodded, his expression sober. “I know.”

Silver stared at him in surprise.

“It took me a while,” Flint admitted, “But eventually I realized that you’d had to have loved me, to do what you did.”

Silver dropped his gaze then and Flint cupped his jaw, tilting his face back up to meet him.

“And then,” Flint said, stroking his thumb over Silver’s lower lip. “I had to accept that I loved you in return.”

“How long did that take?” Silver managed.

“A little while longer.” Flint confessed, and then they both laughed.

Flint traced the curve of Silver’s mouth, and if Silver had thought he had known all the nuances of Flint’s many expressions over the years, he was more than happy to be proven wrong standing here in this moment. This look, he discovered, meant Flint was going to kiss him again, and more thoroughly, leaving Silver half-breathless, and fully hard.

“Well,” Flint said briskly. “We’d better go find Thomas. He’ll be waiting.”

“It’s cold outside.” Silver complained. “How about I stay here, and you go find him?” In truth, he was still a little nervous about meeting Thomas.

Flint rolled his eyes but shrugged in agreement. “Very well.” He reached for his coat, and paused. “You’ll be here when we get back.”

“Yes.” Silver said softly. “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” Flint opened the door. “You’d better be.”

Silver moved to the window and watched him walk down the path and cut across the road towards the hill.

Out of the corner of his eye, Silver saw a movement and he turned his gaze towards the garden, half expecting to see Thomas there. Instead he saw three figures, there beneath the tree, barely visible in the bright sunlight upon the snow. Silver drew closer, gazing at them. They seemed to smile at him, and he raised his hand in farewell, and thanks, before they vanished into the winter air.

 


End file.
